


Essay Writing (or lack there of) 101

by JeromeClarke107



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Admiration, Established Relationship, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexytimes, Vaginal Fingering, fluff (kind of), slight body worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeClarke107/pseuds/JeromeClarke107
Summary: Sometimes, Britta makes it incredibly hard for Annie to be a responsible student. Sometimes, she even makes it impossible.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Essay Writing (or lack there of) 101

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on a one word prompt list created by heclgehog on wordpress
> 
> Prompt: Essay
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Britta,” Annie huffs in frustration as Britta gets down on her knees on the floor, brushing her fingers up and down Annie’s calves and smiling mischievously as she speaks, “I told you I can’t do this tonight.”

She focuses her eyes back on the screen of her laptop, but before she can get started typing again, Britta’s kissing up one of her legs and running her fingers barely beneath Annies skirt, stroking her thigh.

“Britta!”

“Come on, Annie! You can take a break!”

Annie shakes her head, determined, “No, I can’t. This essay is due tomorrow and it’s fifty percent of my grade. I have to make sure it’s perfect!”

Britta sighs.

“You’ve been making sure it’s perfect for three months, Annie. There’s only so much editing you can do. And plus, it’s just forensics or whatever, right?”

Annie rolls her eyes and balls her hand into a fist, trying desperately to keep her voice under control. Yelling at Britta only ever makes her feel awful when it’s all said and done; it’s impossible to stay mad at her with her sweet smiles and loving gaze.

“Forensics is my major, Britta,” she manages through clenched teeth, “It’s kind of important. Even by Greendale standards.”

Britta places one last kiss to Annie’s knee before she stands up, and Annie holds back a whimper at the loss of Britta’s hands on her skin.

“Whatever. I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Britta disappears into the bedroom, and Annie focuses her eyes back on the computer screen. She checks and double checks her works cited page, googles grammar rules to make sure her punctuation is correct, and starts another reread.

She’s on the third sentence of her second paragraph when Britta comes back into the living room. She glances at her out of the corner of her eye, trying to gage how annoyed she is, but the glance turns into a stare when it lands on her girlfriend.

Her golden-blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands hanging down and brushing against her cheeks. The dark grey t-shirt she’s wearing is too short, the picture of the men in black leather on the front (Annie can never tell one of Britta’s bands from another) faded from frequent use. The hem rests just above her belly button, showing off the curves of her sides that Annie likes to stroke when Britta’s beneath her.

The red lace panties she’s wearing show off her thighs and her legs, displaying them beautifully as she pulls them up onto the couch and settles into a comfortable position. She puts the earbuds that are connected to Pierce’s old ipod into her ears, and begins humming quietly to a song as she picks at the black nail polish on her fingers that’s been chipping for weeks.

She bites her bottom lip slightly as she focuses, and Annie can barely remember what she’s supposed to be writing about.

Britta turns her head and Annie quickly looks back at her computer screen, embarrassed at being caught staring. Britta doesn’t seem to mind, though, and she goes back to studying her nails intently from the other side of the couch.

Annie tries to keep editing (she really does) but images of Britta keep flashing through her mind. Thinking about forensics turns into daydreaming about pulling Britta into her lap, her long legs wrapping around Annie’s waist. She’s whispering Annie’s name as they kiss, and Annie’s hands are pushing up the back of her t-shirt and desperately searching for any patch of skin she can reach. She’s laying Britta down on the couch, sliding her panties down her legs, and-

And she’s supposed to be writing this essay. She’s been reading the same paragraph on repeat for the last five minutes, and the wetness in her underwear is becoming a more urgent problem by the second. She _has_ to fix this paper.  
She takes one last glance at Britta (and her bare legs and her t-shirt and her hair that she keeps brushing out of her face) and accepts defeat upon the realization that she can’t take it any longer.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath before gently closing her laptop and abandoning it on the coffee table. She slides over towards Britta on the couch and pulls one of the earbuds from her ear to get her attention. Britta quickly pulls out the other one and turns to face her.

“What’s wrong?”

Annie chooses not to dignify that with a response, and opts to pull Britta in for a kiss instead. One of her hands finds the back of Britta’s neck, the other travels down to her waist, and Annie can’t believe she almost turned this down.

Britta pulls away from her slightly, her lips still lingering close enough that Annie can feel her warm breath against her face.

“What about your essay? Did I mess something up?”

Annie brushes a strand of Britta’s hair behind her ear and the anxiety that was building in her eyes lessens a bit, “Fuck it.”

Britta still seems surprised when she’s pushed down on her back on the couch, when Annie’s hand pushes up her shirt and her lips attach to her neck. She takes one of Britta’s breasts in her hand, rubs a thumb over her nipple, and revels in the moan it draws from her throat. 

“Annie-”

“You’re gorgeous,” Annie whispers as her hand leaves Britta’s chest in favor of pushing her fingers into her panties, and it’s _true_. She’s sexy beyond belief, even when she’s not trying to be, and Annie can’t even begin to fathom how anyone could ever actually think she was anything less than absolute perfection.

Annie gently pushes her fingers inside of her lover, and Britta arches her back on the couch and whimpers as they pick up speed.

The laptop remains untouched on the coffee table for the rest of the night, even when they move from the couch to the bedroom to the shower and then back to the bedroom again. Annie doesn’t even think about it as she loses herself in Britta’s body, and the panic doesn’t hit her again until she has ten minutes left before she has to turn it in.

One look at Britta’s soft smile eases her anxiety tenfold.  
For the first time in her entire life, Annie Edison turns in an essay that is slightly less-than perfect, and (to her surprise) she doesn’t regret it at all.


End file.
